


Push and Shove

by Unfeathered



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Angry Kissing, Banter, Forgiveness, M/M, Making Up, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-23
Updated: 2008-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfeathered/pseuds/Unfeathered
Summary: After the events ofExit Wounds, Jack still has some unfinished business with John.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/John Hart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Push and Shove

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://unfeatheredfics.livejournal.com/3553.html) on 23 September 2008. Beta'd by [mad_jaks](https://mad_jaks.livejournal.com/).

John knows it's Jack who's coming up behind him on the rooftop. He can smell him – the warm, mellow smell he remembers, spiced now with a little extra 'something' from being immortal. He can hear the swish and rustle of that bloody coat Jack never seems to take off. And he can feel the height and heat of him, even before Jack presses against the back of his body, pushing him to lean a little harder against the waist-high wall.

John doesn't try to turn round. Just gazes out over the twinkling lights of Paris and sighs resignedly as he acknowledges the presence behind him. "Jack."

"John." Jack's voice is quiet and steady. John's relieved by the lack of antagonism in it. He wouldn't blame Jack for skipping the talking and just laying into him with his fists after all he's put Jack through.

"Been expecting you."

"Have you, now?" He sounds amused. John hates that. It makes him feel small, like Jack's looking down on him, in more than just the literal sense. 

He wriggles his shoulders, as if to shrug Jack off. "Yeah. Come to check up on me? Make sure I haven't been slaughtering my way across Europe?"

"No." Jack leans forwards, voice warm and mild in John's ear. "Should I have?"

John shifts angrily, shoving Jack backwards enough to be able to squirm round and glare at him. "Don't pretend that's not why you're here."

Jack's eyebrows go up, and he loses a bit of that frustratingly calm demeanour. "I came to check up on _you_. To see how you _are_."

"Oh, as if you care."

"I do, as a matter of fact."

John feels his face twist with emotion. "Jack, I _buried_ you. For nineteen-fucking-hundred years. Not to mention killing you, and then knocking you out and stringing you up and electrocuting you. How can you say you care about how I am when I did all that to you?"

Emotion finally flickers across Jack's face too, though John can't quite determine what it is: pain, and remorse for Gray, maybe – but not, he thinks, the anger he was expecting. His lack of anger just increases John's own, fuelled by his sense of guilt, and he puts his hands flat on Jack's chest and shoves hard.

"Don't you _dare_ say you forgive me, you prat," he spits furiously, as Jack takes a step back. "Don't you dare!"

Jack just looks back at him with a depth of sadness in his eyes that only someone who's lived – well, survived – a couple of thousand years could possibly feel. "I deserved it, John," he says softly.

John pushes at him again. "Don't say that! _No-one_ deserves what he made me do to you. D'you hear me? No-one!"

Jack shakes his head. "That's just your guilt talking."

"And you saying you deserved it, that's not _your_ guilt talking?"

At last – something that seems to give Jack pause. "Maybe," he admits, head on one side as he considers it. Then he straightens, eyebrows raised. "Maybe you're so angry because you feel you deserve punishment too. Hmm?"

John's jaw feels tight as he narrows his eyes. "Going to punish me, then, Jack? Going to make me hurt in return for what I did to you?"

"No." There's a compassion in Jack's eyes that John _knows_ he doesn't deserve. "You were Gray's pawn. You had no choice. I don't blame you, John."

It's not what John wants to hear.

"Come on, Jack. He didn't make me do all of it. The burial, yes. But he didn't make me torture you. He didn't make me push you off a rooftop, not knowing you'd come back, the first time I turned up. Hell, he certainly didn't make me mess with your team. That was _me_ Jack," he snarls. He shoves at Jack's chest again and something breaks inside him. " _Please_ , Jack." he whispers.

And finally – finally – Jack gets that fucking gorgeous glint in his eye, bares his teeth and shoves back at him. Backing him up against the wall, crowding into him until he's bent backwards with a sixty-foot drop behind him, his hands on John's jacket collar, holding him there.

"Is this what you want, John?" he asks ferociously. "Want me to pin you here; want me to hit you? Fuck you?" A flick of his wrists and John's turned around, Jack's groin pressing against his arse in a parody of sex. John gasps as Jack's grip shifts to pull his arms round and up his back, forcing him to bend over, staring down at the drop below. "Throw you off the roof and wait to see if _you'll_ come back?"

" _Yes_ ," John snarls, and Jack gives a frustrated-sounding growl.

"Even the last part? You don't deserve to die, John."

John clenches his jaw and doesn't answer.

Jack shoves at him again, bending him forwards till his toes are almost off the rooftop and his weight is well and truly over the wall. "Look down, John," he grinds out, voice tight with the strain of holding him like that. "It's a long way down. You really want me to throw you over?"

John looks. It _is_ a fucking long way down and his stomach is not dealing with it well. He swallows, half-hard despite it all, and still doesn't answer, because he doesn't know.

"Well, I'm not going to." Jack hauls him roughly back from the edge, scraping his stomach on the concrete, and releases him.

John snarls, nowhere near ready to accept forgiveness, not when he still feels like a monster, and something in Jack seems to soften. He reaches for John, pulls him close and murmurs, "But I will give you this."

And he kisses John. Not the fierce, battling kind of kiss John's used to from Jack, but something far more gentle – more _loving_ , if he could let himself believe that. 

He resists, for a long moment. But there's only so long you can resist a kiss from Jack Sex-on-Legs Harkness. Gradually, he's drawn in, his breathing calms, his mind stills, and he relaxes.

At last, Jack pulls back and just rests his forehead on John's. "I forgive you," he says quietly, and there's a note of such tiredness there that John doesn't yell at him.

He still protests, though. "Don't," he says, low and rough, but not trying to pull away, not trying to hurt Jack, or even glare at him. He's mellowed that much.

Jack doesn't try to pull away either. Just wraps his arms around John and holds him tight. "I know you hate it," he says conversationally. "But do me a favour and accept it, okay? Please? For me?"

John eases back far enough to frown up at Jack. "Means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"You accepting my forgiveness? Yes."

He studies Jack a moment longer, troubled by the pain and sadness in his face. He doesn't know why it means such a lot to Jack, but it's clear that it does, and perhaps that's enough.

He gives a short, sharp nod. "Okay."

Jack lets out a long breath. " _Thank_ you."

John squints up at him. "Gonna tell me why?"

"Let's just say, I've seen what can happen if you let these things keep on festering. We need to stop before it goes too far." 

John raises his eyebrows, but Jack doesn't elaborate. He just grins down at him, abruptly shifting back to the Jack he used to know. "So... You got a room here?"

"Thought you didn't want that?"

Jack laughs. "I always want that. Besides, I've tracked halfway across Europe looking for you. The least you can give me is a bed and some company before I head home." 

John tilts his head, pretending to consider the offer. "Could do, I s'pose."

He feels odd. This isn't how it used to be between them, this calmness, this _peace_. They used to clash, in every way possible; used to laugh and joke and fight and hurt and fuck, knuckles and teeth and cocks, but they were never calm. They've changed. Perhaps they've grown up, just a little.

Perhaps everyone does, eventually.


End file.
